


Closer: Internal

by aleksrothis



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isildur says goodbye to his sons, one especially, before they leave to garrison Minas Ithil (sequel to Toxicity)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The battle was over. The Last Alliance had finally pushed back Sauron's forces from the Plain of Dagorlad and was preparing to besiege Mordor. But not all of them would be moving onwards with the main host the following day. As was decreed before the battle, Isildur's sons, Aratan and Ciryon, along with a company of Men, would be heading South to reinforce Minas Ithil. There was much sadness in the Men's camp at their departure, but all knew that it was vital Sauron should not have the opportunity to break through on that front.

Isildur had retired to his tent early, and it was said amongst his forces that he was much grieved by the prospect of losing his sons. It was true that once they were gone Isildur would have no way of knowing whether they lived or died, but that was not what grieved him. In truth, he was trying to forget that they would be leaving, so he wouldn't have to deal with the pain.

The day grew old, and as dusk fell over the encamped armies, Ciryon entered his father's tent. Isildur didn't react and lay so still that one could be forgiven for thinking that he slept, but Ciryon knew him better than that and he wouldn't let his father ignore him. He knelt at his side, head bowed. "Won't you come eat with us, father?" he asked.

Isildur finally turned to look at his son. "Do you think I want to be constantly reminded that you're leaving? If one more person comes up to me and tells me they're sorry that my sons are being sent back to Ithil... I think I will throttle them."

Ciryon winced at the pain in his father's voice, worrying his bottom lip as he tried to think of a way to comfort him, knowing that whatever comfort he could give would be hollow. "I'm sure we won't be separated long," he said, trying to sound as if he believed it himself. "Surely it will be but a few months before you are riding victoriously back into Gondor. We already have Sauron's forces retreating back into his own lands."

Isildur laughed at his son's apparent optimism and shook his head. "I doubt it will be that simple. Sauron won't be so easily defeated, especially not if he truly does own this Ring that the elves have told us about. From what I've heard it sounds incredibly powerful. But that is a question for another day. The issue now is whether I shall be forced to listen to any more condolences over your departure if I join you for dinner."

"I'm sure you need not," Ciryon replied. "But we can dine privately if that's what you wish. Only... what should I tell Elendur and Aratan?"

Isildur smiled at the younger Man's eagerness to please, but his good humour was only momentary. He couldn't forget that come morning he would be losing this precious gem, "Tell one of them to go and collect our rations, we'll eat in here tonight." He knew that Ciryon had intended to suggest that the two of them eat privately, but somehow he felt it would make their parting harder.

Ciryon leapt up saying, "Of course, father," and, forcing himself to smile, headed out to do his father's bidding. Isildur could briefly hear voices outside the tent, then Ciryon returned with his eldest brother in tow.

"Evening, father," Elendur greeted him, standing awkwardly in the entrance for a moment.

Isildur regarded him silently, then said sharply, "Well, come in and sit down them." Elendur did as he was bid and they waited silently for Aratan to return.

Dinner was a sombre meal that evening. The abundance of herbs in the dish couldn't disguise its lack of substance. Conversation was difficult. No one wanted to speak of the battle so recently fought, so narrowly won, nor did any wish to remember that they would be parted on the morrow.

It fell to Elendur to try and distract them all with memories of a Midsummer's celebration in Gondor, before the dark times came; memories of feasting and dances. It did little to make their scarce rations any more palatable, but the recollection of happier times brought some measure of comfort, a reminder that there had been a time when all wasn't fighting and death.

When the meal was over Aratan voiced his intention of getting an early night. Even left unsaid it was obvious that he was thinking of the following day's journey. As if they'd planned this in advance, Elendur left shortly after him; mentioning something about a patient he needed to check upon. Isildur and Ciryon were left alone in the tent.

Ciryon looked to his father, his grey eyes questioning, searching for a hint of how he should act, but Isildur avoided meeting his gaze. Ciryon wasn't sure what he should do. Sometimes his father would want no more than a willing ear, someone to whom he could pour out all his problems without fear of consequences. Since the host had set put from Imladris, Ciryon had endured seemingly endless rants on the subject of the half-elven lord, Elrond. It wouldn't matter except for the fact that Isildur was seemingly obsessed with the elven-king's herald, and Ciryon was left feeling superfluous.

Sometimes, however, Isildur wanted more physical comfort and Ciryon happily provided that too. He knew that people would think it unnatural, this closeness between himself and his father, but it had ever been thus. Out of all his siblings he had always had the closest relationship with their father and it had somehow seemed natural when it had one day become more than a familial bond.

The morning after he had first lain with his father he had been convinced that others would be aware of what had passed between them. However, as time had passed, he had become less fearful of discovery. Truth be told, his strongest fear now was that his father would realise how deep his feelings for him ran, and decide to end their 'relationship.' And of late he was increasingly having to suppress his feelings of jealously towards Lord Elrond. It hurt him that his father's attentions had turned from him to someone who, as far as he could tell, didn't return his affections.

Isildur frowned internally as he watched Ciryon's expression. Sometimes he felt pangs of guilt over what he demanded of him. Years back, when he had first given in to the temptation of his son's beautiful flesh, it had all seemed so simple. He had told himself that it meant no more than any other dalliance, male or female, that he had indulged in when absent from his wife's gentle embrace.

It was only when he had found himself searching out his son's quarters in Ithil, leaving Vorondomë alone in their cold bed, that he realised it had developed into something more. Of all his boys, Ciryon had always stood out. Slim and wiry, Ciryon didn't bear much resemblance to his sturdier-built brothers and, also unlike his brothers, he owed little in temperament to his forefathers either. In fact, when you looked at Ciryon it was easy to believe that their line was descended from elves, and therefore now easy for Isildur to imagine himself with Elrond.

Isildur rarely became attached to any that he lay with, usually moving from one lover to another without compunction. Even his wife, once beloved, had become, in time, more like a stranger to him. Somehow though, Ciryon had become the exception to this rule and now, Elrond had too, occupying his thoughts almost constantly. However, even the lure of the half-elf couldn't ease the pain that he felt from his and Ciryon's coming separation.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, as darkness stole across the camp. Finally Ciryon spoke, his voice loud in the quietness of the tent. "Shall I light the lamp, father?" he asked.

Isildur started, the simple question breaking in on his thoughts. He had not realised that it was getting so late. Meeting his son's eyes in the growing dark, he was surprised by the intensity of their gaze. Forcing himself to answer, he said, "Yes," then shuddered as Ciryon broke the gaze to turn to this small task.

Suddenly both of them found themselves blinking as their eyes were forced to adjust to the brightness. Ciryon prepared to settle down in silence again, but Isildur didn't want to waste any more of what could be their last night together. He couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye in the morning without at least the memory of this night to carry against the lonely nights to come. He held a hand out to draw the younger Man to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ciryon slid over to sit on the bedroll next to his father. He waited for him to say something but was unsurprised when Isildur simply lay back, pulling him down and against him sharply, crushing their lips together. Ciryon tried to return the kiss but when he did so Isildur pulled away from him saying, "No, let me..." Ciryon turned pliant in his father's arms, allowing him to do as he wished.

Gently Isildur guided his son out of his clothes, before quickly removing his own, not wanting anything between them this night. He needed to imprint this night onto his memory, in case it was the last time they were ever together. Now, pressing bare flesh against bare flesh, he took his time exploring Ciryon's body.

Ciryon let his eyes drift shut, didn't want to think of anything but how good this felt. Nothing else existed but the two of them, there and then. He wanted to reach out, to wrap his arms around his father, to pull him closer. Wanted nothing more than to stay here like this forever. But he knew that they both had responsibilities, that neither could shirk their duties for the sake of their illicit passion.

Isildur's touch became increasingly intimate, as his need grew stronger. Soon he had Ciryon writhing against him in desire as he stroked rough fingers across the sensitive skin down his sides, his back, his thighs. As Ciryon was forced to bite down on his lip to muffle his cries of pleasure, Isildur leant down to tease his swollen nipples with his teeth and tongue.

Ciryon threw his head back, taking deep, shaky breaths as his body grew closer to orgasm. His father was the only lover he had ever had who could bring him to this peak without even touching his aching hardness. He wanted to stroke himself, bring himself to release, but was sure Isildur would not allow him to come that quickly.

Indeed, his belief was correct, Isildur was determined to prolong his desire as long as possible. He continued to explore Ciryon's body, always making sure not to touch his cock. He found his own manhood growing heavy between his legs as he leant over Ciryon, pushing him onto his back on the bedroll.

As his father straddled his thighs, Ciryon could barely control his need any longer and tried to thrust up against his body. Sparks flickered across the backs of his eyelids as his cock brushed against his father's hip, the friction causing him to gasp with delight.

Isildur mock-frowned down at him. "I thought I told you I would control your pleasure tonight," he said, only half-teasing.

Ciryon looked at him through half-shut eyes. "But what about your pleasure, father?" he asked, making his tone rich and seductive.

Isildur smiled. "It would please me if you would do as you were told," he retorted. "Perhaps you need to be restrained to remind you of that?" As he spoke he began to lightly trace patterns across Ciryon's chest with his fingernails.

Ciryon flushed - that touch, his desire, and the shame of having it so bluntly stated combining to make him almost impossibly harder. He tried to reply but his mind was so caught up in his need that he was having trouble forming the simplest phrases. "Please..." he finally managed to force out, as the increasingly erotic touches stole his ability to think or speak.

Ready for that reply, Isildur was already reaching for the soft bindings that he sometimes had cause to use. Pulling Ciryon's arms up over his head, Isildur bound his wrists together loosely. As Ciryon instinctively tested his bonds, Isildur shifted to be lying fully over his son's body.

Ciryon writhed beneath him, hoping to provoke his father into giving him the satisfaction that he craved. The restraints he now bore had only served to heighten his desire. He knew from experience that Isildur would not be able to hold back for much longer.

Certainly Isildur found the image of Ciryon, bound and vulnerable beneath him incredibly arousing, but he had already decided that this evening would be different from any other. He wanted Ciryon to realise that, whatever he might do or say, he genuinely cared for him. He wanted this night to be a memory that they could both carry with them through the difficult times ahead. For all these reasons he was determined that their lovemaking would be different tonight.

However, he hadn't counted on Ciryon's determination to push him into losing control. Ciryon knew that this could be the last night they ever spent together - either of them could so easily be killed in this war - and he wanted to remember the passion, the strength of emotion between them.

Isildur attempted to slow down, to return to his unhurried exploration of Ciryon's body, but found out quickly that Ciryon refused to simply lie still beneath him. Finally, unable to resist the way his son ground his body up against his own, Isildur pinned him to the bedroll with the weight of his body whilst he reached for the bottle of oil he kept for this purpose.

Realising what his father's new intentions were, Ciryon stilled his movements, allowing him to quickly prepare them both for what was to come. Ciryon moaned softly as Isildur's slick fingers slid knowingly into his body, arching his back to ease the task, silently offering himself to the older Man.

Isildur hastily stroked oil onto his cock, needing to be inside Ciryon. Spreading his son's thighs, he positioned himself against the tight opening. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice husky with lust.

Ciryon nodded, unable to form any coherent words. His pupils were dilated so far that his eyes looked black in the dim light of the tent. He wrapped his legs around Isildur's hips, trying to pull him closer.

Unable to hold back any longer, Isildur slammed into his son's eager body, both of them hungry for this act. The feel of that velvet heat, clutching at his hardness was too much for Isildur who quickly lost any semblance of control. Their coupling was frantic, almost brutal in its intensity.

Ciryon had to bite down on his lip to prevent himself crying out in his passion, knowing even in his haze of lust that he couldn't afford to draw attention to their activities. He clung to his father's body as best he could, bringing his bound wrists down and wrapping his arms around Isildur's shoulders.

Isildur knew that he wouldn't last much longer and began to thrust faster into Ciryon's body. One hand slid down between their joined bodies to begin stroking the younger Man's cock. Ciryon, it seemed, had as little control left as him, and soon he came, his seed splashing across Isildur's hand and belly. He lifted the hand to Ciryon's lips, watching in delight as his son licked his own essence from his fingers. Moments later Isildur, too, came hard, inside Ciryon's body.

They lay for a while, intertwined as they recovered. Eventually Isildur slid his now limp member from Ciryon's passage and moved away from his embrace to fetch some cloths to clean their bodies. He released Ciryon's wrists from their bonds, handing him a cloth.

Ciryon forced himself to smile as he began to clean himself, but in truth he wished that they could have stayed how they were for a while longer. Now that it was over Isildur would no doubt wish him to leave, as he did most nights. Of course, it was always easier that way; no awkwardness in the morning, no need to mention what had passed between them, less chance of being discovered... Putting the cloth aside he reached for his clothing, preparing to dress and depart.

Isildur watched Ciryon wipe his body off and noted the sadness in his eyes. He didn't understand what he'd done to cause that until he saw his son was intending to dress and leave. *How can he think that I want him to go when this is our last night together?* He reached over, grasping Ciryon's wrist as he picked up his tunic, "Stay," he said. Ciryon just looked at him for a moment, as if he hadn't understood what had been said. "Stay... please," Isildur repeated, and Ciryon turned back towards him, still holding the tunic.


	3. Chapter 3

Ciryon stared blankly at his father, sure he was misunderstanding. *Why would he want me to stay tonight, when I've never done so before? Surely he can't mean for me to actually stay the night, there must just be something he wants to say before I leave...*

Isildur could tell from the expression on Ciryon's face that he didn't understand what he was asking. He tried to explain. "Please, Ciryon. I don't want to be alone. It's bad enough that you are leaving tomorrow, don't leave me tonight."

Ciryon could barely believe his ears, Isildur had never showed this much emotion towards him before. *Except when he's talking about that damned half-breed, Elrond. He's always emotional then.* He pushed away those bitter thoughts, he would make the most of what his father was prepared to give, as always.

Ciryon returned to his father's side, but was unsure how to act now. This was new territory for him. Hesitantly he reached out a shaking hand towards Isildur, then was surprised as he took it, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around him. Ciryon took a moment to relax into the embrace, having half-expected to be released instantly.

Isildur felt Ciryon's hesitation but said nothing, concentrating on the moment and the feel of his son in his arms. He felt tired, drained by the strength of his emotions. Soothed by the warmth of Ciryon's body and the gentle beat of his heart, Isildur allowed his eyes to drift shut.

Ciryon lay still as his father seemed to fall asleep. He listened to his breathing, waiting for it to become shallow and steady. He moved tentatively, hoping to slip out of Isildur's embrace without waking him. Isildur's eyes flickered open and Ciryon froze - he didn't want his father realising his intentions.

"Is something the matter?" Isildur asked, his brow creasing with worry.

Ciryon forced a smile and thought quickly, "Just getting a bit chilly, that's all. I was trying to get a blanket without waking you up." He hoped that Isildur wouldn't see through his excuse, he didn't want to leave him with any bad feeling between them.

Isildur, now fully awake again, pulled a blanket across their intertwined bodies and held Ciryon closer. "I wasn't asleep," he said, "just resting my eyes."

Ciryon smiled, genuinely this time; he wasn't falling for that excuse. He did wish, however, that Isildur had been properly asleep so that he could have left unquestioned. Every moment he stayed would make it harder to leave in the long run. Inwardly he knew that the whole evening had been a mistake; he had thought that having one last memory of his father would make it easier to go. However, he hadn't counted on Isildur's unusual, and unexpected, gentleness and the love he had shown him. Now he knew that their parting come morning would be incredibly painful.

"What are you thinking about?" Isildur asked, gently stroking Ciryon's back.

"About how much I'll miss you," Ciryon said, then almost immediately regretted it. He was sure that his father wouldn't miss him in the slightest. Not with Elrond Half-Elven around, even if the elf in question wanted nothing to do with him. Ciryon felt guilty about his instinctive jealously, after all he doubted Elrond would give him any reason for it, but he could hardly compete for his father's attention against an elf, especially when he wasn't even going to be there.

Isildur smiled at him warmly. "I'll miss you too," he said, and was surprised by how much he meant it. Ciryon had become especially precious to him recently, giving him a friendly ear when he needed someone to talk to about Elrond, even though he was sure his son hated hearing about his rival in Isildur's affections, and generally being there for him when he needed someone. He didn't know how he was going to cope without him.

Ciryon was shocked by the apparent sincerity in his father's tone as he spoke. *But he doesn't really mean it,* he told himself sternly, *don't get your hopes up.* Out loud he asked, "Do you really want me to stay tonight?" hoping that his voice didn't betray his emotional state.

"Of course," Isildur said firmly. "I want to make the most of our last night together..." He wanted to add, 'and besides, I can't bear the thought of letting you go yet,' but restrained himself. He bent his head to meet Ciryon's lips, pulling him into as tight an embrace as he could.

Ciryon allowed his father to draw him close and returned the kiss with as much enthusiasm as he could forced himself to show, when inside his heart felt as though it were being torn apart.

They made love again, slowly and gently this time, neither wanting the night to end. Finally though, they fell asleep cocooned in each other's warm embrace.

***  
Next morning when Isildur awoke he reached out to Ciryon, only to find a cold space beside him. He sat up, looking about the tent, but there was no mistaking it - Ciryon had left. Isildur throw back his blankets and reached for his clothes, pulling them on swiftly. Why had Ciryon left without waking him? Without saying goodbye?

Within minutes Isildur was ready and as he left his tent, preparing to hurry to the point the troops were leaving from, prepared to run if need be, he walked straight into Elendur. "Where is he?" Isildur asked, "Tell me he hasn't left yet..."

Elendur looked at his father as if surprised. "Do you let I'd let him do that? Not that it isn't what he was planning on, but Aratan wanted to speak with you..."

Isildur cut him off with a peremptory wave of his hand. "It doesn't matter." Then, when Elendur didn't move, "Aren't you coming?" He began walking quickly in the direction of the camp's edge.

Elendur didn't reply but hurried to walk alongside him. After a moment, he asked timidly, "Are you going to be all right, father?"

"What do you think?" Isildur snapped. "I'm about to lose two of my sons simply because that damned half-elf does one thing then says another..." He took a deep breath, then added, somewhat more calmly, "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. I know I've still got you, but..."

"But Ciryon's closest to you," Elendur finished for him. "I know. I don't mind, really. I've always been closer to grandfather anyway."

Isildur smiled ruefully. He knew that he tended to neglect his other two sons in favour of Ciryon and whilst Elendur had his grandfather to turn to, Aratan was always the one left out. He was as loyal to his father as Ciryon but he didn't get even a tenth as much attention. Isildur felt a pang of guilt at the fact that while he was torn with grief at the thought of losing Ciryon, Aratan had barely crossed his mind.

But he pushed that thought aside as, a moment later, they reached the forces who were being sent to reinforce Minas Ithil. Isildur quickly scanned the crowd, looking for his sons, and found them talking with Elendil on the far side of the group. He made his way over to them, his reluctance to say goodbye now making him hesitant. He paused as Elendil walked away from them, wondering if this was really such a good idea.

Aratan chose this moment to look up, and a smile spread across his face, though to Isildur's eyes it looked forced. "Father..." he said, "I was beginning to think we'd have to leave before you got here."

"As if I'd let my sons leave without saying goodbye," Isildur said, trying to keep his tone light. He looked over to Ciryon, but the younger Man turned away, refusing to meet his gaze. Isildur felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if his heart were breaking. He didn't know what he could say and realised that he was just standing there, staring helplessly at Ciryon.

Returning from his discussions with the soldiers, Elendil broke the silence, "Ciryon, Aratan... it is nearly time to depart..."

Ciryon visibly started at the sound of his grandfather's voice, as if he'd been deep in thought. In looking up his gaze caught his father's, and Isildur was shocked by the intensity of the pain he saw there. Ciryon opened his mouth to speak, but Isildur got there first. "We'll be but a few moments," he told Elendil, without looking away from his youngest son.

For a moment Isildur thought that Ciryon would try to object, then suddenly, unexpectedly, he found himself enfolded by strong arms as Ciryon threw himself into his embrace. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around his son, drawing him tight against himself. He felt Ciryon's body shaking as if racked by tears, and tried to soothe him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Elendil standing there, reminding him that they were in public. Isildur loosened his embrace and tried to take a step back. Ciryon looked up at him, his expression equal parts sorrow and confusion. Isildur felt his heart breaking further. "You have to leave soon," he said, not bothering to disguise the pain in his voice.

Ciryon nodded and looked away briefly. When he looked back his emotions were hidden from his face and only his slightly reddened eyes betrayed him. "I suppose it's time to say goodbye then..." he said.

Isildur had never felt more guilty than at this moment - it was his own actions that were causing his sons to be sent away, he was responsible for causing Ciryon this pain. Then he shook his head. No, he wasn't responsible, Elrond was, for his stubborn refusal to accept Isildur's affection. The emotion changed quickly to anger, then faded away just as quickly as Elendil spoke again. "It really is time for them to leave."

Isildur reached out to clasp Ciryon's shoulder. He daren't do anything more for he knew that he wouldn't be willing to let go. "Be safe," he said, then turned away, unable to bear a prolonged parting. Aratan stood behind him. Isildur didn't know what to say to his other son.

"Goodbye, father," Aratan said, without emotion. He allowed himself to be embraced cursorily, then stepped away.

Isildur was relieved that he didn't seem bothered by the parting. "Fare thee well," he said.

Aratan turned to walk away, saying, "Come along, Ciryon," as he went. With one last look at his father, Ciryon followed, his expression now blank. Isildur watched them leave without a word. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder once more.

"I realise that this is hard for you..." Elendil began.

"Do you really?" Isildur asked, bitterly. "I suppose you think that if you could send me and Anárion off to war, I should be able to do the same. But it's not the same at all."

"I know," his father said. He was silent for a moment and Isildur turned to look at him. Elendil met his gaze, a look of pity in his eyes. "I know about you and Ciryon," he said.

Isildur froze. Surely he hadn't heard that correctly, or maybe he'd misinterpreted his father's words - how could he know?

"I'm not blind, Isildur. Nor am I stupid. I've seen the two of you together." Elendil began to walk in the direction Aratan and Ciryon had taken. "I'm not going to lie and tell you that I approve of your relationship with him. I don't. But it doesn't matter now, I can tell that you're hurting and I'm sorry..."

"But you're still going to make him leave, aren't you?"

"Yes." Elendil sighed. "You brought it to this, Isildur. If you hadn't gone after Elrond, then they wouldn't be being sent away."

"Don't you think I know that?" Isildur clenched his fists as he forced himself to control his anger.

"What I don't understand," Elendil continued, as if Isildur hadn't spoken, "is how you can be so upset at Ciryon being sent away when you seem so set on Elrond..."

"I love him," Isildur said simply.

"But if you love Ciryon then can't you leave Elrond alone?" asked Elendil, sounding confused.

"No!" said Isildur. "I can't explain it. I could no more live without Ciryon than without water, but that makes no difference to how I feel about Elrond. I need him. Just being close to him makes me long to hold him, to touch him. I love them both." As they were speaking the gathered soldiers had formed into a column, and as Isildur finished they reached its head.

Elendil nodded to Aratan, standing at the head of the column and he called out, "Gondor... march! To Ithil!" With cries of "Gondor..." the soldiers began to move forwards. Isildur watched as his sons led the troops on, heading homewards but away from him. Ciryon didn't look back. Isildur felt a lump forming in his throat and he blinked rapidly to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Elendil turned to him. "You can't have them both," he said. Isildur didn't reply and his father walked away, leaving him standing alone.

"Why not?" he asked, mostly to himself, as he looked up to the skies and prayed for a miracle that would give him everything he desired.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Chiara *hugs*


End file.
